destruction. Yffi’s army couldn’t invade from the land. The Hedge allows entry only at one point and it is so narrow that you must pass through single file. The Hedge can’t be entirely trusted either. Occasionally, a warrior enters the passage at one end and never comes out the other.”
Jack’s hand went instinctively to the scratches the yew branch had made on his face.
“Father guarded the sea, of course, but there was a third way to enter Din Guardi. There’s a passage that goes deep beneath the rock, a terrible place where krakens nest and kelpies hunt. And there’s a curse laid upon that way. Few survive the journey.”
“Didn’t your da know about the passage?” said Pega.
“Of course. He thought nothing would attempt it, but he didn’t know Yffi. Have you seen his gloves?”
Jack remembered the king’s heavy black gloves and clothes. Nothing was visible of the man except his eyes and the unnaturally white skin around them.
“Yffi is half kelpie,” said Brutus.
“Crumbs! That’s something I didn’t need to hear,” said Pega, hugging herself and looking at the dark tunnels stretching away from the firelight. “I did get a nasty feeling about him.”
“If only Father had been as perceptive as you,” Brutus said. “I don’t know what horror led to Yffi’s birth. Kelpies don’t normally mate with humans. They eat them.”
“You’re giving me goose bumps,” said Pega. “What’s this kelpie thing?”
“A shape-shifter. Sometimes it appears as a beautiful horse, but if you attempt to ride it, it dives under the water and drowns you. Sometimes it looks like a giant otter and sometimes like a very handsome man. They say it can crush the bones in a woman merely by hugging her.”
“I can see why women don’t like them,” observed Pega.
“By some means Yffi was produced, but the villagers cast the infant into the sea. He did not die, however. He was like a dolphin, able to swim from birth. He lived as kelpies do, by lying in wait and dragging his prey into the water. Being smaller than his kind, I imagine he was tormented by the others. Mother was unable to discover much about his childhood. She did learn that he crept up to houses after dark and watched people sitting by their fires. He learned their ways and how to wear their clothes, which he stole.”
Jack, in spite of himself, felt sorry for the child Yffi. He hadn’t asked to be born half monster. It must have been terrible watching the fires and knowing you’d never be welcome. And then returning to the water, where you weren’t wanted either.
“Gradually, Yffi learned to be human,” said Brutus. “He had to cover his hair, which was like an otter’s, and his fingers, which were webbed and tipped with claws. The greenish teeth weren’t a problem. Many knights have them.”
Brutus paused to build up the fire. “I don’t expect visitors, but it never hurts to be careful.” Pega took out her eel-skinning knife and laid it within reach. “To finish the tale, Yffi stole a boat and passed himself off as a pirate. He soon became leader of a band, because even a half-kelpie is three times stronger than a man. But all the while he wanted to live on land, to be accepted and loved.”
“Loved,” murmured Pega. Jack was struck by the deep sadness in her voice. Looking at her covertly, he thought she could pass for half human herself, with her mottled face, undeveloped body, and wispy hair. Yet the Bard had firmly pronounced her human.
“Strange, isn’t it?” Brutus said. “I think Yffi really wanted Father’s friendship, but the kelpie part of him wanted blood. On the night of the invasion he swam out to the kraken nests and told them there was a ship sinking to the north. The krakens immediately went off in search of it. Then Yffi’s men climbed up the tunnel to the dungeons. They swarmed through the fortress, killing all in their path. Father was cut down before he could reach his sword.”
“But you and your mother survived,” said Jack.
“Yffi wanted his new subjects to love him. That’s why he only banished us to the pigsty and built St. Filian’s Monastery, but he didn’t really understand Christianity. St. Filian’s was founded by renegade monks for profit, exactly what you’d expect from a pirate. Mother and I lived in constant fear of death. He was always threatening to feed me to his pet crabs. Now we should sleep. There’s no telling how far we’ll have to go tomorrow.”
“I don’t think I
“Heroes often sing jolly songs to keep their spirits up while on quest,” Brutus said.
“I’m too tired,” said Pega. She held the candle Jack’s mother had given her against her cheek, as if it made her feel safe.
So Brutus sang them a ballad about a knight tracking an ogre in a haunted wood. It had many a
Chapter Nineteen
THE KNUCKER HOLE
Brutus insisted it was morning when Jack awoke. He was already bustling around, toasting oatcakes on sticks. Pega was propped against a wall, looking the worse for wear.
“Nothing like warm oatcakes to start the day,” the slave declared. Jack was allowed a few swallows of cider to wash them down.
“I dreamed of kelpies all night,” said Pega. “Every time I woke up, I saw Yffi in the shadows.”
“Mother used to say dreaming of bad things meant something good was about to happen,” Brutus said.
“Like getting eaten by a dragon instead of starving to death.” Pega was unusually ratty this morning, but Jack couldn’t blame her. He felt ratty too. The walls were closing in and the air was stale. He felt the weight of the rock over his head.
“The more we eat, the less we’ll have to carry,” Brutus said brightly. “Mother always said there was a good side to everything, if you only took the trouble to find it.” Humming maddeningly, he made up fresh torches and loaded up bags. Last of all, he strapped on the green belt with the sword Anredden.
When they were ready, Jack led them down the right-hand tunnel. It might be full of dragon poop, but it promised water. Somewhere. As they walked, the lumps of jet grew more numerous, and after a few hours they had to walk around heaps of it. “Look at that!” enthused Brutus. “There’s enough here for a dozen dragons.”
“Please don’t talk,” begged Pega. “I have such a headache.” So Brutus whistled instead, a tuneless, breathy sound that soon drove Jack frantic.
“Somebody needs his nap,” said Brutus, not in the least insulted. “Let’s all take a break and chase those nasty jimjams away.”
Jack slumped against a pile of dragon poop and fantasized about breaking his staff over the slave’s head. Brutus passed around a sack of sour oat mash. Age had not improved it and Pega said it reminded her of rat droppings, but they didn’t dare waste it. Jack was beginning to get dreadfully thirsty. He thought of waterfalls and rushing streams until he actually thought he could hear them. But if he concentrated, there was only the sluggish breeze. And, of course, Brutus.
“I know! I’ll tell riddles,” the slave cried. “There’s nothing like riddles for sheer fun.
